If weaving Beauty, Patterns and Snapshots of the Human Mysterious Soul is her day to day job, once a month…. the Artist needs to blend into the World and touch the Ground.
She knows when her big Night is nearby, since her Studio has become like a Squat and she needs to flee, to compete against the sweet bees for the City’s Nectar.
For the World is jealous of her gift, and keeps nagging her dream job and accusing her from Laziness to being a Parasite.
Off she goes with her biker boots, Chanel Rouge and favourite Leather Bomber Jacket to savour the acidity of the traffic. And yes, she’s going to enjoy her night alone.
Four miles she walks under the reckless rain, no umbrella, no lady bag, letting the tides of savageness take her back and forth to the darkest and most prohibited places of the City.
Time has not a Clock here. The raindrops mark the accelerating Rythm of mediocrity.
Mediocrity that pays for her Bills.
In awe, she watches the languishing souls, hungry for the beauty and passion she delivers everyday.
Some stare at her, some try and kick her, but like a ballerina, she keeps pure and uncontaminated by the city’s dirt.
Jettons placed and jokes exchanged, she has captured the Devils work. She is so grateful she has never asked him a single favour.
Before she realises, she is home, and has no idea where all this cash in her purse came from…. yet she is delighted with it.
Her cat stares at her and is wondering when dinner shall be served to him!
She looks around- needs to do her monthly cleaning and start her new sketches.
She has taken revenge over this aggressive World, and she knows, no matter what, her innocence shall never be snatched again.
Slipping into her Hello Kitty pijamas, she cannot see her reflection in the mirror for she had 3 beers, and drops to sleep excited about the happy ending nightmares she is to experience.
Images of pedestrians crossing the road in the red lights start flashing by, and her new garments await for the next escapade.
The Artist is fed with Decadence, to process and feed the masses…. who pay for the cats food and biker boots.